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High water mark: A monologue by Sara Pagones

Isaac reminded us that there are multiple worst-case scenarios -- and that we'll always need our boots

Shrimp boots aren't a fashion statement, but they are essential equipment for a journalist living in southeast Louisiana. I've worn my share of white boots and hip waders and have been glad to have them.

STAFF PHOTO BY DAVID GRUNFELDShrimp boots are essential equipement for journalists, and many residents, in South Louisiana.

I first pulled them on in the early 1980s, covering the Pearl River floods that inundated neighborhoods in Slidell and Pearl River. I witnessed the destructive force of water, along with the mess and heartbreak left when the waters recede.

Those floods are the reason I would never consider living on the water -- my husband's dream -- and scrutinized the trees for high water marks when we went house-hunting.

Since then, I've experienced the gamut of floods -- storm surge from hurricanes and tropical storms and flash floods from epic rainfalls. I've been up to my knees and up to my neck. Even years later, the images don't fade, maybe because they are always the same -- children splashing in streets turned to streams, wild animals clinging to bits of flotsam, people poling their pirogues through neighborhoods like bedraggled gondoliers, homeowners surveying the wreckage with stoicism or tears.

Last week, Hurricane Isaac brought a full menu of flooding: storm surge that overwhelmed places like Braithwaite, LaPlace and parts of Slidell; never-ending rain that filled streets and swelled streams; and then there was the specter of river flooding. It began with worries about the Percy Quinn dam failing in Mississippi. Then water scoured out land around Lock 2 on the Pearl River Navigation Canal, bringing fears that a wall of water would crash down. Finally, a cresting Pearl River coincided with a high lake, threatening the same neighborhoods were I covered my first flood.